


Who Loves You Most?

by AkiRah



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Gen, Gender-Queer Hawke, Hawke gets cursed, Hawke's attachable beard should be a staple of my dragon age fic, Mentions of Anders/Hawke, Mentions of Previous Fenris/Hawke, QPPs Varric and Hawke, True Love's Kiss, it's almost it's own character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 04:07:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11547165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AkiRah/pseuds/AkiRah
Summary: Varric didn’t understand magic. He didn’t want to understand magic, seeing as most of the things that fell out of the Fade were ornery motherfuckers. But right now, staring at the plush red comforter with the expensive gold trim, Varric wished he had some clue. Hawke had been asleep for more than a week.





	Who Loves You Most?

On the first day they’d thought it was just a nasty blow to the head. Blondie had cast his spells and when Hawke didn’t wake up Broody had lifted them gently and carried them through Hightown’s streets and into their house. 

Leandra had cut Hawke’s bindings away and dressed them in a breezy white chemise, muttering about her baby girl. She frowned at the preserved hang-on beard Hawke had been wearing and set it to the side. 

“They were a boy today.” Varric replied, giving the exasperated old woman a smile. “At least they weren’t _just_ wearing the beard.” 

That earned a dry chuckle, weak and miserable, but a chuckle. “I’m so scared, one day she’s not going to come home.” 

“Hawke’ll always come back,” Varric promised. “It’s what they’re best at.” 

Leandra bent and pressed a kiss to Hawke’s forehead. “See you in the morning, darling.” 

She left Varric there, to wait, the way he always waited when Hawke had taken a nasty hit. 

* * *

On the second day Hawke still hadn’t moved. Varric checked their breathing and their pulse and gave Sandal a smile when he brought into two breakfasts. Varric ate both, intending to tease Hawke about it when they sat up and stretched. 

Blondie and Broody arrived with Daisy, Rivani and Aveline in tow. 

Blondie cast his spells, his hands glowing as they passed over Hawke’s unconscious frame. 

Broody loomed, leaning against the wall with his sharp gaze fixed on the mage like he was torn between wanting to leave and needing to stay. 

Daisy wrung her fingers, suggesting that there might be some old elvhen remedies they could try, if they could get the recipes from her keeper.

Rivani volunteered for the heist, hands on her hips, refusing to look at the bed. 

Aveline went to check on Leandra, saying that Hawke would want to make sure their mother wasn’t worried. 

Varric polished Bianca’s wood. 

Hawke slept. 

* * *

On the third day Varric washed Hawke’s face after eating their breakfast as well as his own and told them about the day he’d first shaved off his beard, inciting horror from his brother. He spoke in a low, even tone, like there was no hurry and nothing was wrong. He sat on the bed, a step stool under his feet so he could easily get down. 

Blondie arrived and spared Varric half-a-glance. Varric smiled as warmly as he could and hopped off the bed. He walked to Hawke’s desk and dug through the drawers until he found one of his manuscripts. There was time to edit while Blondie visited. 

Blondie was a wreck. His eyes were dark from not sleeping, but his hands were steady, glowing with magic as he took hold of Hawke’s face. He cried, forehead pressed to theirs, and asked them to come back. 

“It’s only been a few days, Blondie.” Varric consoled. “They’ll wake up.”

“And if they don’t?” Blondie hung his head, forcing himself to breathe slowly. “They’re my boyfriend.”

“Unless they’re your girlfriend, I know, Blondie.” Varric managed a small smile. “They’re not gonna leave me to deal with you and Broody fighting over their pyre. That would be irresponsible and cruel.” 

Blondie pressed his lips to Hawke’s. “I love you.” He cleared his throat, straightening. “I have to get back to the clinic but I’ll--” 

“We’ll see you tomorrow.” Varric nodded. 

* * *

On the fourth day Varric opened the windows in the bedroom and let the breeze in. He asked Bodhan to run down to the Hanged Man and pick up some of his work so he could do the accounts from Hawke’s room. He ate both of the breakfasts Sandal brought and teased Hawke that they were missing out. 

Broody arrived when it was dark and the rest of the house was asleep. He hovered in the doorway, tattoos glowing in the black. Varric, pretending to sleep on the settee, watched with one eye open as Broody brushed Hawke’s bangs back. His fingers shook.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Wake up, Hawke. Even after everything . . . don’t . . . leave me here.” He pressed his mouth to Hawke’s knuckle, a long, lingering kiss. “Please, don’t leave me here.” 

He noticed Varric as he was leaving and tensed like a bristling cat. “Not a word, dwarf.” 

“My lips are sealed.”

* * *

On the fifth day, Varric sat on the bed and balanced a sausage link on Hawke’s mouth while he ate the rest of his breakfast and then ate theirs. He told Leandra about how Hawke had dissuaded a mugging while sauced by coming around the corner too fast and looking “sufficiently menacing.” It was enough to get a smile on Leandra’s mouth. 

Daisy arrived a little before lunch, tracking dirt in behind her, arms full of bottles and herbs. She tried to grin, but her big green eyes were wet. “I’m just, oh I’m so worried Varric. What are we going to do if she--I mean They, never could get the hang of changing pronouns but I’m trying and I--” 

Varric set a hand on her arm. “Breathe Daisy, keep up like that and we’ll have two unconscious bodies. Not the kind of addition I’m looking for.” 

“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Her shoulders slumped and she set the bottles down. “I don’t know how to wake them up, but I--I did some reading and this should be the same tincture that the ancient elves used to keep the bodies alive while they entered Uthenera. It might help.” 

“Can’t hurt.” Varric eyed the reagents. “How’d you find all this?” 

“Oh, most of it’s stuff I had from the clan. When I left. And the rest I bought.” 

“Send me the receipts.” He eyed her. “You _did_ get receipts, right?” 

“Of course I--no, I didn’t. I must have forgotten.” 

Varric sighed and nodded. He’d find the shops once Hawke was up and about and make sure that Daisy got her money back. She lived in a hovel, he could front this bill. 

Daisy worked, chirping to Hawke like a little bird, filling in bits of gossip and elvhen stories. Anything that filled the quiet. She brushed the mixture over Hawke’s lips and chewed her own. She squeezed Hawke’s shoulders in a facsimile of a hug and kissed their temple. “Do you think they’ll wake up soon, Varric.” 

“I think so, Daisy. They’re just stubborn.” 

* * *

On the sixth day Varric brushed Hawke’s lips with the tincture Daisy had left. It smelled sweet, kind of sappy. He ate his breakfast and set Hawke’s on the desk. “You’re starting to smell,” he told them.

Hawke said nothing. 

Aveline arrived, wearing her civilian clothes. It was always strange seeing her out of armor, made things feel less real. 

Varric left the room while she and Leandra pulled Hawke to sitting and washed them. Varric watched the ceiling until the door opened and Aveline paraded out, carrying the bedding to be washed. 

“There’s something unnerving about you when you’re domestic,” Varric commented, rolling up his sleeves to help her with the sheets and chemise. 

Aveline frowned, snorted and then rolled her eyes. “I like having clean clothes and bedding, Varric. I know how to wash them.” 

“Never said you didn’t. It’s just not usually how I picture you.” 

She hung the wet laundry on the line outside and they walked back into the house to find Leandra on Hawke’s bedside, brushing her fingers through Hawke’s hair and over their cheek. 

“I don’t want to bury them, Varric,” Aveline said in a small voice.

“We won’t. They’re just lazy.” He gave her arm a pat. 

Aveline kissed Hawke’s nose with almost maternal fondness before leaving. She narrowed her eyes at Varric. 

“Nose?” Varric raised an eyebrow.

“My father would kiss my nose when I wasn’t feeling well,” Aveline explained. “Don’t you dare tell them about that.”

“They’d accuse me of lying, Aveline, and you know it.” 

* * *

On the seventh day, Varric didn’t eat his own breakfast, much less Hawke’s. He brushed the mixture Daisy had made over their lips and told them to knock it the fuck off. Hawke didn’t listen, lying there limp in the bed. He moved them closer to the middle and pulled his accounts onto his lap to check them. 

Rivani showed up around sundown, smelling like liquor but sober enough to stand. “I didn’t want to see them,” she said, refusing to look at the bed. “I hate sick people.” 

It wasn’t a good lie, and it wasn’t particularly convincing. “Leave to Hawke to get fucking cursed,” he commiserated.

Riviani nodded, still not looking at the mattress. She moved to the bedside and picked up the preserved black beard that Hawke sometimes wore and fiddled with the string. “Any change?” 

“I’ll let you all know if there is.” 

She nodded absently and set the beard down. “Good. Good.” She looked at Hawke almost hesitantly. “You’d better not die,” she accused, poking Hawke in the tit. Hawke remained unresponsive. “They’d better not die.” 

“They won’t.” It was starting to wear on him, reminding everyone. “They’ll just lie there for a bit.”

“At least Anders has something _familiar_ then,” Rivani reached for a lascivious smile and a dirty joke, and missed. But at least she tried. She kissed Hawke’s temple. “Get up.” 

They didn’t listen. 

* * *

On the eighth day Varric had an apple and a stiff drink. He brushed the mixture over Hawke’s lips and comforted himself with the thought that at they were breathing and didn’t seem to be starving or dying of thirst. He hummed the song he was working on for Bianca and wrote a letter to the inspiration. He turned when he heard the clatter of armor on the stairs and watched Junior make his way past his mother and into the room. 

“Aveline told me what had happened,” Junior said, blue eyes fixed on his unmoving sibling. “How long have they been out?” 

“A week,” Varric slid out of the chair. He wasn’t counting the first day. The first day had started with Hawke, hungover, leaning on the back of his chair and grinning while they read his manuscript. The first day didn’t count. 

Junior cleared his throat. “I asked at the Circle. I found a couple of books that might explain . . . something. I don’t know.” He ran a hand through his coarse black hair. “Merrill might have a better idea. Or Anders but. If I can help, I can get permission from the Knight-Captain to bring a healer in. Probably.” 

“I’ll keep it in mind, Junior.” 

“Will you give us a moment?” 

“Sure kid, take your time.” 

Varric sat outside the open door while Junior settled on the mattress beside his sibling. He couldn’t make out the conversation, but it didn’t really matter. He almost hoped Hawke was being teased and threatened and goaded. Junior kissed Hawke’s cheek and straightened. “I left the books downstairs with mother. Let me know if I can . . . help.” 

* * *

On the ninth day, Varric didn’t wake up. _Waking up_ implies sleep. He poured over the books Junior had left. His breakfast sat ignored nexted to Hawke’s. People came and went and Varric read complicated stories of paralysis spells gone wrong and fairytales of cursed princesses. Varric didn’t understand magic. He didn’t _want_ to understand magic, seeing as most of the things that fell out of the Fade were ornery motherfuckers. But right now, staring at the plush red comforter with the expensive gold trim, Varric wished he had some clue. He closed the book and pinched his nose. 

“Well, shit.” He walked to the bedside and tucked Hawke’s hand back under the counterpane so they didn’t get cold. “Our group is short on Prince Charmings, Hawke. You might be asleep for a while.” 

Saying it made it real. 

Varric felt something small break inside of him. 

“Look, from what I can figure out of this magic crap the most definite way is for the person who loves you most to kiss you and wake your ass up. Everyone’s kissed you. Even your fucking brother.” 

Hawke didn’t move. 

“Your boyfriend. Your ex-boyfriend. _Aveline_. Your mother. Even Rivani.”

Hawke didn’t seem to care. 

Varric swiped at his eyes, annoyed when he felt the stinging. “Andraste’s ass, Hawke. At this rate you’re going to die in bed and that’s no way for this story to end.” He squeezed their hand in his. “You’re my friend, Hawke. My best friend. And the only person who keeps this sack of cats in line, you _have_ to get up.” 

He exhaled. 

“If you’re not getting up, you’re going to have to make room.” He used the step stool and sat on the bed. “The settee’s uncomfortable.” 

They looked like marble. Cold and immobile. Their skin was chilled but not icy. 

Varric kissed their forehead. A little clumsily, smacking his nose into their skin but it’d been a _while_ since he’d kissed anyone. 

Hawke murmured. 

Varric pulled away, wide-eyed. 

Hawke made a low, complaining noise and wrinkled their nose. “Mmmno,” they complained, rolling over and trying to take the covers with them. 

Varric was sitting on the covers. 

Hawke tugged a few times but didn’t have the leverage to move him. “Geroff.”

“Wake up.” 

Hawke yawned. “Varric. It’s like---” they stopped and rolled back over, blinking at him. 

He’d never been so happy to see the color blue. 

“Did you move into my room while I was sleeping?”

“That happens if you’re out for more than a week.” 

Hawke stared. They sat up and stretched, rolling their head on their neck. “Next time I’m sleeping for two. What the fuck happened?” 

“Long story,” Varric couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ll fill you in after breakfast.”

Varric chuckled as Hawke slid out of bed and slunk towards the bath. “Bianca’s gonna be jealous.” 

For all the wrong reasons.


End file.
